Inevitable Parts I & II
by Mooncombo
Summary: For a shattering moment, she thinks that maybe this is one mission she can not complete. But she is a soldier, she reminds herself, and she has faced more powerful men than this one.
1. The Courtesan

**UPDATE 4.30.2010 - I am continuing this story so that the first 6 chapters are Part I and the rest is Part II. Additional notes at the beginning of Chapter 7.**

Warning-sex ahead! This is a series of snap shots of our heroes doing naughty things, but not all of it is fluffy. RATED M for a reason.

This chapter takes place after Gibbs leaves for Mexico.

Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.

* * *

The first time he goes to her, he does not know the reason. But she does. She's been down this road before.

She opens the door in response to his hesitant knock. Hair dampened from the rain, he looks like a lost little boy. She gives him a slight smile and softly murmurs, "Are you lost, DiNozzo?"

He doesn't return her smile but whispers back, "He left."

Her face grows serious and she offers her hand to him.

"I know, Tony."

She doesn't wait for him to respond, but grabs his hand and pulls him inside her apartment. Leading him to her couch, she motions for him to sit while she silently pads to the bathroom to grab a towel for his wet hair. His eyes follow her movements, but he does not speak. She keeps her own silence as she moves to stand in front of him. Rather than hand over the towel, Ziva kneels on the couch next to him and lightly rubs the terrycloth fabric over his damp head.

Tony's eyes drift closed and enjoys her touch for another minute before lightly grasping her wrist. He doesn't say a word but tugs her into his embrace. Half sprawled across his lap, she rests her cheek against his chest while he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

His fingers trace a lazy pattern along the ridge of her spine. She shivers. She knows what happens next just as surely as she knows realization has not yet dawned for Tony. But she's played this game before and knows the rules.

His arms tighten briefly around her small frame. Twisting in his arms, she adjusts her position so that she is straddling his lap. She looks at his face and he meets her gaze, pain and sorrow and something else entirely- something resembling desire- burn in those green eyes.

She presses a kiss to his chin. He doesn't stop her.

Next, she brushes her smooth lips against his, teasing him with the tip of her tongue. He still doesn't stop her.

Taking his lack of resistance for the permission that it is, she continues to explore him with her mouth and her hands. Pulling his shirt from his pants she slides her small hands along the skin at his waist. The muscles of his stomach clench as she teasingly scrapes her fingernails along sensitive flesh. Grasping the hem of his shirt she pulls the garment form his body and he allows his head to fall back along the cushions of her couch with a sigh.

She kisses a damp path along his collar bone and up his neck. His breathing quickens. She sits back on his lap and finds him studying her with a strange expression on his face. But he still does not stop her.

Only when she slides off of his lap to kneel between his legs, her hands reaching for the button on his jeans- only then does he stop her.

Grabbing her wrist, he effectively stills her movement. Her mouth drops open and her head snaps up in surprise. He's changing the rules of the game.

He doesn't speak for a moment but holds her confused gaze with his own.

"Stop."

"What's the matter?"

He's not sure what pains him more: the realization that she is about to service him or the fact that she doesn't understand that her behavior is odd.

"You are not a courtesan, Ziva. I need you _with _me." Staring into her face he sees confusion and something resembling vulnerability clouding her features.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she whispers.

"Yes, you do. How many times have you done this? How many times have you used seduction as distraction? How often was this expected of you?" His voice holds no accusation, but rather sadness. She hasn't given him enough credit for his observational ability.

She assumes his questions are rhetorical and remains silent and unsure of what to do next. He lifts her so that she is once more straddling his legs. Pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth he whispers, "Be here _with_ me, Ziva."

She nods and that is all the permission he needs. Trapping her face between his hands, his mouth finds hers and his tongue dips between her lips. He teases and nips at her. Still reeling from his revelation, she feels the power shift as he takes command of the situation.

Her head tips back has his tongue teases a path along her neck. His hands pull at her shirt and before she knows it, his deft fingers unclasp her bra. Pushing her off his lap she stands, somewhat stunned, between his legs as he slides her pants down her legs. He quickly sheds his own jeans before settling back on the couch with her once more in his lap.

He wants to push himself inside of her, foreplay be damned, but this is Ziva and he doesn't want any regret.

Her breathing has quickened and her eyes have gained a slightly wild flare and he wants to sear this image into his brain. Running his hands along her arms, her skin breaks out in goose bumps and she shivers. His thumbs lightly graze her nipples as his fingers travel north and her eye lids droop with a soft sigh.

Her hands begin their own exploration, only to stop short when her attention is shattered by a finger slipping between her legs. A sharp intake of her breath and her head falls back only to fall forward once again as his fingers scrape against the bundle of nerves that craves his touch.

Her breath is coming in short little pants, an occasional sigh or whimper escaping lips that are pressed against his neck and he smiles to himself because later he will remind her that she called herself a screamer and that he has it on good authority that she is not.

Her legs begin to shake and he can feel the beginning of her orgasm start. A few more strokes is all it would take, but he wants to feel her around him. He pulls his hand away and she cries out in desperation. Grasping her hips, he lifts her and buries himself deeply inside of her body.

She begins to rock her hips, but he grabs her to keep still. Pulling back, she searches his face in confusion. Chocolate eyes meet hazel and he wants to say the words, but he doesn't have to. He simply places his hand on her cheek and presses the most exquisitely gentle kiss on her lips, then pulls her tightly against his chest.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, a tiny sob escaping her lips as she once again buries her face into his neck. Lifting his hips slightly, he grinds up against her.

He moves so slowly and deliberately that she wants to cry. His hands on her hips, he rocks her hard against his pelvis and once again her legs begin to shake. His hand slips between their joined bodies, his finger brushing the nerves that cause her gasp and shake above him. One more stroke and a thrust of his hips - hard - and she cries out and collapses against him.

He does not wait for the tremors to ease before his flips her onto her back and once more presses himself inside of her. She wraps her arms and legs around him, a soft satisfied smile on her face. It's not long before he follows her to bliss and collapses heavily on top of her.

Slowly, he becomes aware of his body crushing hers, but when he moves to roll off of her, she holds him tighter.

"Not, yet," she whispers in his ear and he smiles against her temple.

Eventually, he will gather her in his arms and carry to her to the bedroom. He will make love to her again in the early morning hours before dawn. Before he leaves in the morning, he will press his forehead against hers and simply kiss her cheek. He can't articulate all of the things he wants to say to her, but he doesn't have to.

She already knows.

* * *

Thank you for reading. More to come. Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated.


	2. Friday Night

This chapter also takes place during the summer while Gibbs is in Mexico. Eventually, this story will end up in the present, so hang in there with me!

Warning: Sex and Fluff ahead. Had to give them a little fun.

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Probably won't be mine tomorrow, either.

Oh, and very little editing went into this. I'm apologizing for mistakes in advance..

* * *

Startled from dozing on the couch, Ziva grabs her gun from the coffee table. Someone is trying to kick down her front door. Reaching for the lamp on the end table she sends the apartment into darkness and waits for the inevitable crash of splintering wood. Dropping to her knees on the carpet she takes aim at the door.

The sound of splintering wood never comes, but instead a voice calls out, "C'mon, Ziva, my hands are full. Open the door!" His demand his followed by another sharp kick to her door.

She lets out the breath she didn't realize she was holding and sets her gun back on the coffee table. She pulls the door open and looks him up and down, taking note of the pizza box, six-pack of beer and DVD balancing precariously in Tony's grasp.

She pins him with a suspicious mock glare and says,

"Trying to get lucky, DiNozzo?"

His eyes rake over her body and he smiles appreciatively at her boxers and tight tank top.

"Maybe I am."

Rolling her eyes, she grabs the beer and lets him into her apartment.

"What are you doing here, Tony?"

"Ziva, doing your laundry on a Friday night is the _lamest _excuse, ever."

"It is not an excuse, if it is true. Besides, I am a very busy person, Tony, I do not always have time for fun." The smile she gives him betrays the annoyance in her tone.

"Well, lucky for you, you can do both. Laundry and fun."

She eyes him suspiciously.

"What kind of fun, Tony?" She invades his space causing him to take a step back.

"The PG kind, Ziva." He holds up a DVD case. History of the World Part II. "The R-rated kind is optional."

Her eyes narrow.

Tony sets the pizza down on the coffee table then fishes something out of his back pocket.

"Don't worry, Ziva, I brought back up if you don't like the movie." He holds up a deck of cards.

* * *

It starts out innocently enough, although neither of them expects the evening to end with a PG rating. They eat the pizza while Tony attempts to explain History of the World Part II.

"But, it's _Mel Brooks_, Ziva. How is it possible that you don't think this is funny?"

She shrugs. "I just do not think it is funny."

"That's because you don't get it." He sighs. "I guess we will have to go with the back up plan."

They are both on their second beer when Tony pulls out the deck of cards. She eyes him curiously.

"Do you know how to play Speed, Ziva?" She shakes her head. He quickly explains the rules and they run a few practice rounds. All too soon, the six pack is consumed.

"Lucky for you, _Very_ Special Agent DiNozzo, I have some more beer in the fridge."

Their game becomes fiercely competitive as Ziva gains skill and they both become light headed from the alcohol.

She's laughing and moves to wrestle a stolen card from him when his smile falters.

"What?" She frowns. He shrugs.

"Nothing." But he grows serious.

"What is it, Tony?" She presses. He swallows.

"You are beautiful, Ziva."

She smiles but looks away. She steals a glance back in his direction beneath her lashes then launches herself at him one more time and makes a move to retrieve the stolen card. Slapping it down on the pile, she yells, "Speed!"

He refuses to let her break the moment and tackles her to the ground, effectively pinning her beneath his heavy body on the carpeted floor. For a moment he thinks she will break the spell. For a moment he worries she will pull away. In the end, she doesn't. She wraps her arms around his shoulders instead and smiles up at him. His heart stutters because this Ziva is the real Ziva. This Ziva is vulnerable, sweet and sometimes even slightly unsure of herself - although he is fairly certain that if he does anything to abuse the trust she is placing in him Ninja Ziva will kick his ass.

She surprises him by pulling his head down to hers and kissing him. He kisses her back and reaches for the hem of her tank top. He makes quick work of removing what little clothing she is wearing and places a kiss in the hollow of his neck. He kisses a path down her neck, across her collar bone and between her breasts.

Her lashes flutter shut and a quiet sigh escapes her as Tony's tongue lightly brushes against one nipple and then the other. Her pulse jumps and her breathing quickens as he makes his way farther south, his fingers following the path of his lips. Her back arches as he licks a trail along the very bottom of her belly, teasing her.

She whimpers when his mouth closes over her center. She's wet and she's more than ready, and he wants nothing more than to simply bury himself within her tight body. But he doesn't. He teases her and plays with her, but keeps her teetering on the edge without letting her fall.

He laughs against her as she curses him in frustration.

"_Damn it, Tony."_

She takes matters into her own hands.

Pushing him off of her, she stands up and walks toward her bedroom. He has to give her credit when she lifts her chin stubbornly yet has to place a shaky hand on the wall to keep her unsteady legs from betraying her.

"If you want to continue this, Tony," she calls over her shoulder, "I suggest you join me in the bedroom. I do not want rug burns."

He shakes his head but does as she instructs, shedding clothing along the way.

He finds her casually naked on her back in the middle of the bed.. Her eyes are closed, her legs are crossed at the ankles and her arms are folded behind her head as though she were sunbathing on the beach. On her face is the perfect Mona Lisa smile. He thinks that there was never a more perfect creature.

He joins her on the bed, gathers her in his arms and sinks himself deep within her warm body. He can't wait any longer, but she doesn't seem to mind. He wants be slow, but she arches her back and wraps her legs tightly around his hips and he's a goner.

He takes her harder than he means to, but she is not fragile and meets him thrust for thrust, lifting her hips and adjusting the angle. He makes a mental note to go for slow and gentle when they get to round two. His breath mingles with hers and he holds out, waiting for her to come before he surrenders himself.

Her legs clench against his hips and he knows that she is close. Throwing her head back against the pillows she grinds out his name between clenched teeth.

"Tony, please," She is close to begging.

He shows mercy by reaching between their joined bodies and dragging his thumb across her clit. She squeezes her eyes shut, arches her back, lets out a strangled whimper. He follows her down with a groan. Burying her hands in his hair she soothes him as he shakes above her before he finally collapses.

Rolling off of her body, to sprawl on the comforter beside her, he throws an arm across his face as he waits for his breathing to return to normal. His hand seeks hers and he entwines his fingers within her own.

She twists to her side, places a kiss on his cheek and then rolls off the bed.

This catches his attention.

"Be right back," she calls and pads out to the living room.

When she returns, she carries the deck of cards in her hand and two cold beers.

Pouncing back on the bed, she sets up a new game.

He smiles and she smiles back.

After all, the night is still young.

* * *

A/N Had to give them a little fluff because I think the next couple of chapters may be a little darker. Feel free to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!


	3. War Games

Disclaimer: Still not mine. My stocks are up though, so maybe I can afford to buy them…heehee.

Warning: Dark and angry, but I couldn't avoid it.

A/N: Some time has passed between Gibbs leaving (the first two chapters of this story) and this chapter which follows Season 6 x 9 "Cloak" after the war game goes wrong and Tony and Ziva argue in the elevator. Tony tells her that he is tired of pretending. It's been awhile since Tony and Ziva have slept together.

* * *

He's still angry when he bursts through her bathroom door. She should never have given him a key to her apartment. Whipping back her shower curtain in alarm, she yelps when she sees Tony's face.

"Tony! What do you think that you are doing?"

"We're not done with our conversation, Ziva."

Almost ripping the shower curtain from the metal rings, Ziva grabs the fabric and forcefully closes herself from his view.

"You could not wait until I was out of the shower to have this conversation? Actually, Tony, did it occur to you to call first?"

He doesn't answer her questions, but says, "I will wait for you out here."

The bathroom door slams.

* * *

Wrapped in a bathrobe, Ziva emerges from the steamy bathroom to find Tony pacing her living room like a caged tiger. He doesn't wait for her to finish toweling off her hair, but grabs the towel with one hand and her wrist with the other.

She looks at him in alarm. He's angrier than he was in the elevator. She opens her mouth to speak, but he stops her harshly.

"Don't say anything. Just listen," he orders. Her jaw snaps shut - for the time being - but she feels her own ire begin to bubble.

He's still gripping her wrist. Which she allows. For now.

"Everything has been lie built on lie. You and me - was that real? Last summer, Ziva? Was it real?"

She swallows and whispers, "Yes. Yes, it was real."

She turns to walk away from him but forgets the hand the has captured her wrist. He effectively grabs the other wrist and pulls her backward until her back is resting against his chest. Leaning over her shoulder, he whispers harshly into her ear, "Can you explain it to me, Ziva?"

Thinking to distract him - because this is what she knows, what is familiar - she presses back against his body. His breath catches and he hesitates, momentarily distracted from his line of questioning. Her wrists are suddenly free as his arms reach around her torso to tug her against the length of him. He knows her game by now, having effectively called her on it during their first encounter, but this time he plays along.

He is angry and she is angry and neither is going to back down. She doesn't try to stop him when his hand moves to untie the belt holding her robe closed. Instead, she lets her head fall back against his shoulder and whispers a little breathlessly, "Explain what, Tony?"

Her breath quickens as does his when his fingers roam and glide over the smooth skin of her stomach.

"Maybe you can start with explaining why it ended. Why you walked away."

Her arms reach behind her to clutch at his neck as his hands cup her breasts.

"You do not understand, Tony-" She gasps as his thumbs graze over her sensitive nipples.

"Explain it to me," his voice is dangerously soft.

She feels the angry energy radiating off of him just as she can feel the length of his erection at her back. Seduction. Distraction. Misdirection. Skills particularly useful in the world of a professional assassin. Tony is certainly not a marked target but the scene unfolding in her living room is so familiar that she feels a sense of relief, of separation. Of courage.

She rubs back against him and he groans, momentarily unfocused. Dropping his head to her neck, he nips at the tender flesh. She shivers. He steps back just far enough to slide the bathrobe off of her shoulders.

"Explain it to me, Ziva," he repeats and nudges her in the direction of the over stuffed armchair just a few steps away. "Explain how you could walk away. Was it because Gibbs returned?"

"He was having me followed. Us followed."

He bites her shoulder as his fingers slide south.

She gasps. He groans.

"Who?"

"My father, Tony. He was having us followed."

She can feel his hands unbuttoning his pants at the small of her back and her legs feel shaky. Another small step and she braces her hands on the back of the armchair. His hand grasps her shoulder and she sighs in relief as he sinks into her.

He is still angry, she can feel it, but he is careful not to hurt her as he slides in and out of her body. Her knuckles are white as she grips the chair her head dropping to rest on the fabric.

She whispers, "I thought I was putting you in danger."

He pauses, still buried deep inside of her.

"What about when Jenny died? Why did you come to me that night?"

"I needed you," she says so quietly he almost doesn't hear the words.

Then he whispers back, "I was falling in love with you, Ziva."

She rears back against him, effectively dislodging him from her body, and whirls around to face him.

"Do not do this," she warns.

"Do not do what? It's the truth."

She pushes him away from her.

"How much could you have loved me, Tony? Remember Jeanne?"

He reaches for her and suddenly she feels so tired, so empty. He folds her small frame into his embrace and holds her.

"I accepted Jenny's assignment because I needed a distraction."

She sighs because she understands. Of course she understands. This was her life in Mossad. Distraction and seduction. Sleeping with your partner was common, sometimes expected. It was certainly not acceptable to fall in love with your partner.

Tony was not the only one to make that mistake this time and she is painfully aware of this fact.

The rules are different here. Not only could she not afford to risk his safety, she could not afford to lose her position at NCIS. A position just recently reinstated.

He takes her hand, gently this time, and leads her to her bedroom. Pulling her onto the bed, he apologizes softly and seeks to make amends for his rough treatment by making love to her slowly and tenderly. He is so sweet than she struggles not to cry. She holds him tightly to her body because despite the words tumbling out of his mouth promising that if they are careful and discreet there is no reason they should not continue their relationship, she knows that without Jenny Sheppard, Eli David is a bigger threat than ever.

Her fear is confirmed when she receives a manila envelope with a single picture of Tony leaving her apartment at dawn the next week. She can not risk everything a second time.

* * *

Months later, she will try to convince herself that she is in love with Michael.

But something is off.

And she will pay for her misjudgment.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know, not a very nice way to end this chapter. What if I promise a happy ending? Everyone okay with that? In my defense, there had to be some ugliness regarding Jeanne and Rivkin. Right?

Feel free to let me know what you think. Reviews are appreciated and welcomed.


	4. The Refugee

This chapter takes place immediately after the gang gets off of the elevator when they return from Somalia. Aaahhh…Somalia. Sucks for poor Ziva, but excellent for fan fiction. I wrote and rewrote this chapter. Then wrote it again. Hopefully, it works. I'm officially cross eyed now, so I am apologizing in advance for mistakes.

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

* * *

She had chosen him. Of all of her former team mates, Ziva had chosen to go home with Tony.

"_DiNozzo, Ziva is going home with you tonight."_

"_Is this what she wants, Boss? The last time Ziva and I spoke, she threatened me with a gun. You should probably ask her -"_

_Smacking both palms down on Tony's desk, Gibbs leaned in and whispered harshly, "Does she look like a threat to you now, DiNozzo? Besides, she chose you."_

She had chosen him.

The car ride to his apartment is silent. He can feel the taught energy rolling off of her in waves, like ripples in a pond. Her eyes dart nervously, taking in her surroundings. There are million things he wants to say, but he can't quite find the words to accurately portray the sum of his feelings. He's not sure she's present anyway so he attempts to sooth her frayed nerves instead.

"Relax," Tony says gently. "You are safe now."

She looks at him with wary, scared eyes.

"You are safe, Ziva," he repeats. He wonders, not for the first time this evening, if he is in over his head.

She does not speak for the remainder of the trip to his apartment. She does not speak as he leads her upstairs. And she still does not speak as he ushers her into his bathroom and turns on the water in his bath tub. She simply watches him, caution unmistakable in her expression.

He lets water fill the tub and leaves briefly to fetch a few towels. When he returns she still hasn't moved. He sighs.

"Ziva, do you need anything?"

She shakes her head and he shuts off the water.

"I will be right outside if you need me."

He closes the wooden door and leans back against the painted surface. Dragging a hand across tired features, he wonders again if he is in over his head. In his bathroom is the ghost of a once deadly Mossad assassin and he had no idea what to do to help her.

* * *

Ten minutes turns into twenty and then thirty. No sounds come from the bathroom.

Finally, Tony knocks softly on the bathroom door.

"Ziva? Are you okay?"

No answer.

They were beyond modesty. He opens the door.

Ziva is sitting on the edge of the tub, having only managed to remove her socks and boots. Peering up at him, she looks like a refugee.

"Let me help you." He holds out his hand, expecting her to recoil from him, but she tentatively places her small hand in his larger one and allows him to pull her to her feet. He smiles. It was a start.

As gently as possible, he begins to peel the dirty, blood stained clothes from her body. She makes no move to help, but does not resist either. He then makes quick work of removing his own dusty clothes.

He pulls the plug from the drain, opting to take a shower with her rather than attempt to fit them both into the tub.

He sucks in his breath the moment she turns from him to step into the bathtub. Whirling around at his sharp intake of air, she attempts to shield her body from his view by wrapping her arms protectively around her waist. He doesn't let her hide however, and gently turns her around once more. Her back is a mess of scars, scabs and bruises all at various stages of healing. He drops to his knees, turns her again and looks more closely at her torso and discovers older faded bruises along her ribs, stomach and thighs. Before he thinks better of it, he lightly traces a finger over rather ugly dark purple bruises staining the skin of her inner thighs. She clamps her legs together and involuntarily hunches over slightly.

He looks her in the eye and she knows the question he wants to ask.

Unable to hold his gaze, she looks away.

In a voice that sounds foreign to her own ears, she whimpers, "Please, Tony, no questions. Not tonight."

He nods and gets back to his feet. She is right. Tonight is not the time for questions. He helps her into the shower and suddenly needs to feel her body against his. He is so very gentle with her as for a brief moment she leans against his strong frame. He wants to kiss her, hold her, touch her all over to reassure himself that she is indeed very much living and breathing. He doesn't do any of these things, however, and keeps his physical contact to a minimum and somewhat clinical.

He grabs the shampoo and quickly goes to work washing her hair and then his own. He is halfway through lathering soap over her skin as quickly as possible when he feels rather than hears the first sob that shudders through her body.

Her legs collapse from underneath her and she pitches forward. He wraps an arm around her but follows her down until they are both kneeling on porcelain. Turning in his embrace she sobs against his chest. Great heaving sobs that shake her entire body. Finally, he sits down under the hot spray of water and pulls her into his lap. Tender hands sooth her abused body and hold her until her crying stops. He doesn't move until the water raining down upon them begins to grow cold.

Her teeth are chattering has he wraps a towel around her body and then his own. He finds an old pair of running shorts and helps her step into them.

"Ziva, we need to do something about your back."

She climbs onto his bed , gives him an unsure look, and gingerly places herself face down on his bed. He pulls this thick quilt over her to keep her warm until her can scrounge up the necessary supplies.

_Gibbs_. Gibbs will know what to do.

Tony slips from the bedroom to make a hushed call from his cell requesting hospital supplies.

Gibbs arrives within the hour with a brown paper bag filled with telfa pads, gauze rolls, ointment, ace bandages and some sort of blue liquid called chlorhexadine. And heavy sedatives. It seems Ducky has some connections himself.

"Only one of these pills at a time, Tony."

Gibbs turns to leave but pauses when Tony says, "I'm scared, Boss."

"Me too, DiNozzo."

"Why didn't you force her to go to the hospital?"

The silence threatens to choke them both before Gibbs finally replies.

"The medics said none of her injuries were critical at this point," he sighs, then continues. "Maybe I did her a disservice but I needed to give her the choice, Tony. I gave her the power to decide what happened to her tonight. We can force her to go to the doctor tomorrow, but for tonight, I let her make the choice and she chose you."

Gibbs lets himself out.

* * *

He doesn't speak for awhile after he sits down on the bed beside her still form. Running his fingers lightly along the top of her head, he feels relief when she doesn't flinch. Her eyes are open and she watches him but avoids direct eye contact. Handing her a glass and a pill, it doesn't even occur to her to ask questions.

He patiently waits until her eyelids begin to droop before he finally lowers the quilt.

_No survivors. There were no survivors._

But she did survive.

He wants to scream, yell and howl at the marks scattered across her skin. But he doesn't. Instead, he does the best that he can with the supplies that he has been given.

"I always wanted to play doctor with you, Ziva," he jokes because if he doesn't distract himself, he may just grab her in his arms and start sobbing himself.

She smiles slightly for the first time since she was dumped in the chair across from him in Somalia.

His hands are excruciatingly gentle and she finally lets herself begin to relax.

She has not quite succumbed to sleep as he helps her sit up so that he might wrap the ace bandage around her torso to keep the gauze in place.

Leaning heavily against him, she reaches up to place a soft hand against his cheek. He covers that hand with his own.

"I'm so sorry, Tony, I never meant-" She doesn't finish her statement as the drugs take over her system.

He lays down and pulls her against him so that she is curled along his chest and her head is tucked under his chin.

He doesn't want to let go of her because two days ago, Ziva David was dead.

_No survivors._

But she did survive.

And he's not letting her go.

_

* * *

_

A/N: Okay, so no sex in this chapter, but hey, spending time in a terrorist camp isn't good for your sex drive. Anyway, I had to go there in order to give them the happy ending they deserve. As always, thank you for reading!!!


	5. Normal

I was stunned by the sheer number of people that have this story on alert. Far more than any of my other stories. Thank you for your interest and support!

Takes place on Christmas Eve into Christmas morning…after Faith.

Disclaimer: blah, blah, blah. Not mine.

Note: apologizing for mistakes in advance. I have a busy weekend ahead and wanted to get this posted before time got away from me.

* * *

Tony awakes to find himself alone in his king sized bed, one half having been apparently abandoned. He's not surprised to find that his bed is one ninja short. The lack of warmth indicates that the vacancy is not recent.

An unidentifiable ache passes through him as he finds her curled in sleep on the floor beside the Christmas tree, a rainbow of lights dancing across her skin as they blink is rhythmic succession. She has dragged a pillow and a blanket from the couch to the floor and looks very much like a child awaiting Santa's arrival, except that she is naked underneath that blanket. The only thing missing are the milk and cookies.

****

He had purchased the tree more for her sake than for his own. She staunchly refused to celebrate Hanukkah - actually refused even to discuss it, the topic too painful so soon after parting ways with her family - but smiled when she first caught glimpse of the Hanukkah decorations crowding the branches of the tree to mingle with candy canes, angels and glass icicles.

He had surprised even himself as he prepared for their private holiday celebration, having found himself excited to share this with Ziva. Maybe it was the filet and wine shared between them. Maybe it was the warm cozy hue of the lights on the tree. Maybe it was the sugar cookies; Santa and dreidel shapes alike. Whatever it was, it caused a warm fuzzy glow further fueled when one glass of wine turned into two and then three.

A bottle and a half later they were hurtling toward dangerous territory. Sleepy, giddy and slightly dizzy, Ziva grabbed Tony's hand and giggled as she tugged him toward the bedroom. He made quick work of removing her clothing and then his own before grabbing her and tossing her gently onto the pillow topped mattress.

Leaning back against the pillows, she pulled him down toward her waiting mouth, her lips kissing his with enough enthusiasm that he temporarily forgot that this Ziva is not the same woman that played cards with him stark naked in this very bed.

Driving her finger tips into his hair, she moaned softly, the wine sending soothing warmth through her veins. Everything began to spin as her limbs wrapped around his body. He didn't think - couldn't think - was lost in a haze that is her and wine and twinkling lights. He missed the vital cue, the moment in which he might have stopped but it happened so fast that he did not realize what had occurred until it was too late.

Caught up in the events of the evening - and he was not alone in any of this until this very moment - he grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head as he simultaneously sunk himself deeply within her body. His brain was operating a heartbeat slower than his body and it took a minute to register her whimper as he effectively held her wrists captive, an action all too similar to experiences better left in the desert. He did not, however, miss the sharp cry of pain and fear that ripped from her as he finished that first thrust and began a second.

He then went deathly still.

He lifted himself onto his elbows, and peered down at her, self loathing already taking root. Her breath was erratic and her eyes were screwed tightly shut. He remained deathly still, afraid to remain inside of her, yet wary of moving at all. So he moved as slowly as possible, released her wrists and slipped his softening erection from her.

Still poised above her still form, he took in her pained expression and panic shot through him effectively eradicating whatever warmth might have lingered from the wine.

She went limp beneath him and his worry increased.

Running a hand across her forehead, he whispered, "God, Ziva, I'm sorry. I didn't think, I didn't-"

"This is not your fault." She cut him off.

He rolled off of her, but she rolled with him, clinging desperately to his body.

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"Wait, you are apologizing to me?"

"I thought I was ready. We can try again. I'm sure I can do it."

She made the statement casually, as though they were simply talking about improving running times. He was at a loss for words, but found his voice quickly enough when she rolled herself on top of him and attempted to make good on her promise.

"Wait, Ziva, stop!" He grabs her chin and forces her to look at him. "This doesn't have to happen _tonight. _We can take our time."

Her forehead dropped to his as she sucked in a shaky breath.

"It's one thing for Vance to see me as damaged goods."

She pulls back to look at him before continuing.

"It's another thing for you to see me that way as well."

He wrapped his arms around her still too thin body and moved their bodies so that she is spooned against him. A flurry of emotions course through him as he considered her whispered concern. Heartache warred with fury as he placed a kiss behind her ear. All he has considered is how lucky he his to have her back. He has not considered her too damaged and the recollection of Vance's callous words enrages him anew.

"I don't - can't - see you that way, Ziva. We will just take our time."

She didn't say anything further and Tony took that as his cue to keep his mouth shut. For the time being.

****

He wonders how long she has been curled in front of the Christmas tree. Silently, he makes his way over to her and lays down beside her sleeping form.

"Ziva," he gently calls to alert her of his presence so that she might not break his bones out of drowsy self protection.

She rolls to her back and blinks sleepily back at him a smile playing on her lips before she recalls what took place in the bedroom a few hours prior. Pulling her against him, he kisses her gently, softly.

Lovingly.

"You are not damaged. We will figure this out. I want us to figure this out. Do you trust me?"

She nods and smiles at him but her eyes are suspiciously damp.

"I trust you, Tony."

They lay on the floor, watching the blinking rainbow lights for a few moments before Ziva wiggles out of his embrace. Walking toward his bedroom, she smiles over her shoulder as she calls out, "back in a second."

When she returns, she is bundled up in his oversized NCIS sweatshirt and in her hands is something that looks suspiciously like a deck of playing cards. Plopping herself down beside him, she begins to set up the game they played so often that first summer together.

He looks at her with a mixture of awe and amazement. And maybe something a little like love. A lot like love. And she returns the same look. He is so distracted that she easily kicks his ass the first two rounds before he gets his head in the game and wins a round or two himself.

Eventually, they tumble once more into slumber by the tree as the sky begins to grow pink.

The road ahead is not easy, to be sure, but tonight is a start. A start back toward something close to normal.

* * *

A/N: As always thank you for reading! Feel free to leave me a little love! Hee hee. One more chapter to go.


	6. Ever After

A/N: Thanks bunches for reading! Last chapter!

Takes place one year into the future. Immediately before a retirement party for Gibbs. (Yes, I'm letting Gibbs retire.)

* * *

"Thanks, Boss."

He snaps his phone shut as Ziva walks out of the bathroom fastening a glittering earring into her ear.

"Tony! Why are you not dressed? We need to get gas for your car if we are going to show up separately and -" her voice trails off. "What is wrong?"

It takes a second to find his voice. Standing before him is absolute perfection. Hair piled on top of her head, make-up expertly applied - sans lipstick, which is clutched in her hand - she is absolutely stunning in strappy heels and a black cocktail dress.

He is still wearing a towel.

"God, you are beautiful, Ziva." And she truly is, no matter how cliché is statement sounds. She smiles her truest smile and offers a simple thank you.

"Can you zip me up?"

He swallows. She looks like a Disney princess minus the crown and cheery singing animals, although he can't think of any Disney princesses that survived torture in Somalia. She turns around. The wounds have long since healed to leave faint white lines along her back. They have come a long way.

Sliding his hands inside her dress, she yelps as he reaches around and cups her breasts under the silky fabric of her dress. Giggling, she attempts to turn toward him. "We need to get ready! And besides, I do not want to mess up my hair!"

"What if I am extra, extra careful not to mess up your hair?" He nips her ear then slides the dress off of her shoulders. She grabs it from him so that he does not leave it a crumpled mess on the floor and places the black material carefully over the back of the chair next to the bed.

Sitting down on the bed, he pulls her to stand between his legs and presses a kiss on her belly while his hands slide her underwear to pool around sexy shoes - which he requests that she not remove.

Placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, she lets her eyes slide closed as his mouth finds her center, licking and teasing until her legs threaten to give way beneath her. His hands reach up behind her to unclasp her bra. Sliding the straps over her shoulders, his thumbs graze her nipples on their trek back down to rest on her hips.

She climbs onto the edge of the bed straddling his hips. As she sinks down on top of him she squeezes her eyes shut and holds her breath - her last residual tell that this soldier disguised as a princess has not yet been able to conquer.

Never too far from the periphery of his mind is the road traveled to get to this point, a point where the physical became pleasurable once more for Ziva. The road was bumpy but they survived.

She opens her eyes and the moment passes. Warmth replaces the flicker of apprehension in her features and when she smiles him, her face only a few inches from his own, he feels a tug in his chest. Slowly, so slowly, he lifts hers hips and then pushes her back down to meet his own. She tries to increase the tempo, but his hands control the pace.

"Tony, please," she pants, cheek resting against his.

"I'm just making sure that you do not mess up your hair," he laughs.

She groans.

Suddenly he grows still. She leans back to look at him, their bodies still joined together.

"What is it?"

"I was going to wait to ask you this, but I can't. Gibbs will announce me as his successor this evening unless I accept another position. I have been offered my own team on a three year contract in Paris, Ziva. How would you feel about living in Paris for the next three years?"

She had been prepared that she may be reassigned if Tony was named team leader in DC. There is only so long that their relationship can remain secret. Before she can ask the question, he tells her, "there is a position available for you specializing in linguistics and combat training. Actually, two positions were open and you fit the bill for both if you want it."

"What ropes did you pull to get this done, Tony?"

"It's strings, and actually the position really is available. Gibbs and Vance both put in a good word. Maybe pulled a string or two to get you to the top of the list for the job."

She smiles at him then grinds her hips against him.

"How did you explain to Gibbs your need to have me with you?" Another rock of her hips and he is having trouble following the conversation.

His hands settle on her shoulders to hold her still.

"I told Gibbs that I wanted to make you my wife."

He swears that he can hear her heartbeat against her ribcage. Before she can panic he continues.

"I asked Gibbs for his permission to marry you, Ziva, since I couldn't ask your father, although we both know that he would definitely not say yes. Of course, if Gibbs had said no, I would have asked you anyway."

"Wh-what?" she stammers. "You want to marry me?"

"We're going to have to create another story when people ask us how I proposed since I'm sure you don't want me to tell them we were in the middle of you taking advantage of me, Ziva."

She is still speechless. Until he shifts beneath her body to get her attention eliciting a small "oh" in response.

Finally, a grin splits her face and she kisses him fiercely and yells her affirmative. He's grinning like an idiot as well, but there is business to which he must attend before he digs out her ring from the drawer.

He keeps his promise not to mess up her hair as he tortures her with achingly slow movement and pressure along all the rights points of her body.

There is no time to rest as they are only a few minutes away from being late. After they are both dressed, he does, however, get down on one knee and propose properly, ring and all.

Eyes glittering with happy tears, she kisses him once more and accepts not only his proposal but agrees to the contract in Paris.

They are engaged for a total of 57 minutes when Tony smacks her ass and refers to her as the old ball and chain. She responds by threatening to start letting herself go. Immediately.

C'est la vie.

It's French for something.

* * *

Somehow this story morphed from a smut fest to a romance. I hope this didn't turn out too cheesy, but I wanted them to have a happy ending. I think they would enjoy an adventure in Paris for a few year, doncha think? Thank you all for reading!!! Reviews always appreciated!!

**UPDATE 4.30.2010 - This isn't the end after all! More notes next chapter.**


	7. Epilogue Part I Prologue Part II

A/N: I have decided to continue this story since A.) I came up with an idea that didn't seem too out there and B.) between the reruns and the completely indifferent way Ziva and Tony treated each other in the last new episode, I am feeling a serious lack of motivation to work on And So It Goes since I'm not really sure where the writers intend for their relationship to go.

Also, I am posting the sequel along with the first part simply because if I clicked on a story that took place a year into the future, Tony and Ziva were married and are living an AU life in Paris I would probably be a little turned off. BUT- I have already sucked you in this far so maybe you will continue to read it… =)

This chapter bridges the gap between Parts I and II. There will be smut, but I'm trying to include a little more of a plot this time around. On with the show!

Disclaimer: Still not mine!

Epilogue Part I / Prologue Part II

The suite at the Fairmont was bathed in flickering candle light. The tiny hairs along her back stood on end as Tony's finger tips traced feather light patterns along her spine. Burying her face into the smooth soft skin of his neck, Ziva breathed in the comfort of his scent. She hummed softly and dreamily against his throat and he smiled, thinking to himself that the day couldn't have been more prefect.

The small ceremony was held in the courtyard downstairs. McGee served as best man and Abby as maid of honor. Even Tony thought he might shed a tear or two as Gibbs appeared at the end of the isle with Ziva on his arm dressed in a simple but elegant off-white satin gown. Ziva actually did shed more than a tear or two, along with Abby who wisely chose to limit her application of black eyeliner.

The ceremony was followed by a reception in one of the small banquet rooms, where dining, dancing and drinking ensued and not necessarily in the order. The reception also served as a farewell party for Tony and Ziva who were leaving for Paris on Monday.

Swinging a leg over both of his, Ziva scraped her nails along the responsive skin along Tony's side, across his chest and then changed direction and let her hand fall south.

"Careful, Ziva, don't wake the beast."

She laughed and rolled on top of him, settling herself so that he was pressing against the entrance of her body. Sucking in her breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and sank down allowing him to fill her completely.

"God, I love you, Ziva."

"I love you, too," she whispered .

Less than 48 hours later, the newly weds presented matching navy blue American passports to the customs agents at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris, France.

A/N: I know, I know, it's very short, but in my defense it is an epilogue/prologue after all! Next chapter will be up soon. Thanks for reading!


	8. Palais Garnier

A/N: Tony and Ziva have been in Paris for about two months. So far, most of their assignments have been gathering intelligence regarding possible threats to U.S. Security. The team in Paris is small and I figure their job duties must over lap. I'm using this as an excuse to have Ziva and Tony working together, but he is not her boss. I'm calling this creative license. =)

* * *

**Palais Garnier**

He spotted her from the other side of the landing. Tracing her fingers along the marble railing of the grand staircase of the Palais Garnier as she strolled nonchalantly toward their target, the skirt of her black dress swinging around her legs.

"Easy, Ziva, do not engage. Observe," came a voice through her earwig.

"Yes, Tony, I know what I am doing," she mumbled in response, her lips barely moving as to not draw attention to herself. "I am simply trying to get a look at his face. We are not even sure if we have the right person."

The gentleman made his way toward the entrance to the box seats, causing Ziva to change direction and head back around in Tony's direction, meeting at the top of the flowing marble stairs.

Once reunited, she placed her hand on his cheek and kissed the other, the diamond on her left hand glittering in the soft yellow light from the chandeliers. Nimble fingers straightened his bow tie and smoothed the lapels of his tuxedo. She clasped his hand within her own as they made their way to the Grand Salon for the cocktail reception.

"You know, sweet cheeks--"

"I hate that nick name, Tony."

"--being married certainly makes undercover work easier," Tony continued as if she hadn't spoken. He flashed her his patented brilliant smile, "not to mention, I can ogle your body without threat to my life."

"Um, Agent DiNozzo, you are not alone on this frequency."

"Right, well, all Probies shut your ears when I am talking to my wife."

"Smooth, Tony," Ziva responded with a laugh.

"You know, Ziva, this feels awfully _Mr. & Mrs. Smith_. You know, being married, black-tie event, undercover assassins--"

He paused at her sharp look at his use of the word assassins. Their current team did not know of Ziva's past as an assassin for Mossad. They simply knew that she had previously been a liaison officer.

"Actually, Tony, this is more _Phantom of the Opera_, especially considering this is where it took place-"

A soft nudge to her ribs caused Ziva to follow Tony's gaze. Ahead of them was their suspect.

"Are you getting this, Agent Becker?" Tony asked, referring the hidden camera in his glasses.

"Yes, we have a snap shot of his face to run through the facial recognition programs."

If Tony hadn't turned at that very moment, he would have missed Ziva's reaction. Her eye brows knit together in confusion, immediately followed by a sharp intake of breath before all traces of her reaction were erased, a content mask settling across her face.

Hazel eyes bore into chocolate and the look he saw reflected in their depths told him to keep his mouth shut while they were still wired. He squeezed her hand instead and led her to the bar where they each ordered soda on the rocks - hers with a lime - to keep up the façade of a happy couple simply attending the opening gala of the London Philharmonic's performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.

"Any hits, yet, Becker?"

"Nothing so far."

The lights dimmed, signaling the end of intermission. Tony glanced at Ziva. Her skin was bathed in the golden glow that was cast off of the gilded walls and fixtures by thousands of glittering lights. Other than the slight tension in her body, she appeared the picture of perfect calm. Or maybe the calm before the storm.

"Agent DiNozzo," Becker's voice crackled into their ears, "no hits on this guy. Maybe he's not facilitating any arms deals with al-Qaida after all."

Judging by Ziva's reaction, he was guilty of _something_.

"Ok, team, we finish out the night, gather what intel we can and we will regroup in the morning."

* * *

Tony stood in the doorway of their bedroom, an overly full glass of wine in each hand., and watched as Ziva slipped out of her black dress. Still wearing her heels - and nothing else - she reached up to unpin the curls piled on her head. Shooting Tony a coy look over her shoulder, she called out,

"Are you just going to stare, _Very_ Special Agent DiNozzo, or are you going to join me?"

Three steps and he was standing behind her to reach an arm around and hand her a glass of crimson liquid. She smiled at him via their reflection in the mirror in front of her. Taking a long swallow, she closed her eyes as warmth from the wine spread from her belly outward through the rest of her limbs.

Her eyes remained closed as she leaned back against Tony's chest. She took another swallow of wine and felt his arm close around her body, his thumb reaching to lightly graze her nipple. She shuddered. Another swipe elicited another shudder confirming his suspicion. This was not arousal. This was fear.

She felt his hesitation and spun around in his embrace. Placing her mouth on his neck, she placed a trail of wet kisses across his throat.

"Oh, no you don't, Ziva, not this time."

She looked up at him.

"You are not going to distract me. What happened at the gala tonight?"

_What did he do to you? _

Instead, he asked, "How do you know him?"

"He looked familiar, that is all. I can not place from where."

His eyes bore into hers, searching, but she met his gaze without flinching and so he chose to let it go for now.

He kissed her softly, gently, but it turned almost desperate as her lips sparred with his own. He took the wine glass from her hand and set it on the dresser behind her. She pushed him toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sat down heavily on the edge. She stood naked between his legs. His fingers lifted, almost of their own accord, and brushed the smooth soft skin of her belly. She sucked in her breath and once more her response seemed to reflect her apprehension rather than actual desire.

Pulling her against his own body, he placed a feather light kiss on her sternum between her breasts.

"Maybe we should call it a night, Ziva," he said gently, his voice incredibly controlled so that it would not reflect the anger that burned through him any time she showed hesitation with him. It rarely happened these days, but Tony knew - even if Ziva thought otherwise - that it might always be like this.

She swallowed, considered arguing, but then acquiesced and climbed into bed beside him. He didn't ask her any more questions that night but later murmured into her hair,

"Eventually, you will have to talk about it, Ziva."

It took so long for her to respond that he assumed she had fallen asleep. Finally, she whispered back,

"I know."

Only an hour or so passed before Ziva sat up in bed, a scream dying on her lips. She was out of bed and running to the bathroom before Tony's sleep addled brain could register her distress.

When he found her, she was heaving the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Grabbing a wash cloth, he doused it with cold water as Ziva sat back on the cool tile floor and looked up at Tony with an expression that was so forlorn, so lost, that it took his breath away.

A long minute passed before she spoke.

"I remembered how I know him, Tony."

**To Be Continued...**

A/N: So in this little story, Ziva has not actually told Tony the story of what happened in Somalia. He has guessed and certainly fit some of the pieces of the puzzle tpgether and she may have told him parts, but for now, I'm going with the fact that she still doesn't talk about it if she can avoid it. Tony getting over Jeanne got more coverage than Ziva recovering from being held HOSTAGE in a terrorist camp.!! Um, what is wrong with this picture? I. Just. Can't. Help. Myself. I have to write about it.

A/N: It's been a couple of years since I visited the Palais Garnier, but with a little help from Google, hopefully my descriptions are accurate.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a review….hint, hint. ;)


	9. Coming Clean

Hi all! Not feeling super motivated after Tony's creepy weird behavior on last night's episode.

Disclaimer: duh.

This chapter takes place immediately following the last chapter.

* * *

She looked up at him from her spot on the bathroom floor.

"How do you know him?" Tony asked as he sat down on the edge of the tub and watched Ziva wipe her face with the wash cloth.

"I think that he was there, Tony."

"Where?" he asked, confused.

She pushed herself off of the floor to stand at the sink, her demeanor changing swiftly and seamlessly from PTSD Ziva to Soldier Ziva. Grabbing her toothbrush, she calmly brushed her teeth, then washed her face before finally turning back to Tony, her face stoic. It frightened him sometimes, this ability of hers to mask any and all emotion.

"Somalia. Saleem's camp." With that, she turned and walked back to the bedroom leaving Tony to stare dumbfounded in her wake.

"What? Wait," he called after her, "_Ziva_!"

She reappeared in the doorway.

"Tony, can we not talk about this tonight? Please," she held out her hands, palms up, a gesture of surrender, "please, I just need to digest all of this. Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

And that was that.

* * *

Music pulsed through her ears in rhythm with her feet pounding the dirt path of the Jardin Du Luxembourg. Stride after stride, she pushed as the sun was creeping along the horizon promising a beautiful autumn day ahead. Her shins ached slightly, but she forced herself to keep moving. Taking a deep breath, she continued to run along the cement pond.

He stood up as she rounded the corner. She slowed to a walk as she caught sight of him, pulling the head phones from her ears.

"Tony, what are you doing here?"

She should have known that he would be annoyed when he woke up and found her gone this morning.

He held out a bottle of water.

"I wanted to talk to you."

She glanced away, her eyes scanning the park.

"You want to do this now? Here?" He didn't miss the control in her voice. She was angry. Well, fair is fair. He was angry, too.

"I'm tired of waiting. Not to mention, this affects an investigation. We're _married_, Ziva, and I don't even know what happened to you," he held up a hand in a sweeping gesture to cut her off when her mouth opened to respond. "Oh, I can guess what happened. I could guess what happened after seeing your body that first night home. I could _guess_ what happened after spending months waking up to your crying in your sleep. And," he continued quietly, but with no less anger, "I can guess on those occasions, which I will admit are becoming more rare, when we make love and you can't _quite_ keep yourself from flinching."

She glanced away, but not before he saw the sheen of angry tears glittering in her eyes.

"Do you think I want this? Because, trust me, Tony," she all but spat at him, "this is not how I saw my life turning out." She registered his hurt look at her thoughtless comment, but couldn't seem to stop the torrent of words bubbling up her throat.

"I was a trained assassin. A soldier. It's bad enough to look back now and know that I was a killer. I changed my life. I became an investigator. I found a home and a family at NCIS. And then somehow, everything I had worked to become was taken. Sometimes, Tony, I think they took my soul."

An angry tear escaped and tracked down her cheek before she could swipe it away with cold fingers.

"What is it that you want to hear? Do you want the details? Do you want to know how they would beat me within an inch of my life only to let me heal enough so that they could begin all over again? Do you want to know just how many hours I spent tied to a chair? What about the hours I spent staring at my own blood splatter? Or would you rather hear about the first night he held me down and raped me and I was so weak that breathing was difficult let alone fighting him off? Or maybe, _maybe, _I could tell you about the night he gave me to one of his men as a reward. You tell me, Tony, what do you want to hear?"

Her breath was ragged and quick.

"This is not fair, Ziva." Tony's voice was calm, controlled. Too controlled.

"You are right. It's not fair. None of this is fair, Tony. But it is what it is."

There were so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that she wasn't the only one who suffered. He wanted to tell her that his heart broke every time she whimpered in the night. He wanted to tell her what it was like to mourn her death.

Mostly, he wanted reassurance that of all of her regrets, he was not one of them. He was not the part of her life that she wished had turned out differently.

He didn't say any of that, though.

"I'm at a loss here. Everything is telling me that you should be pulled off of the case. The reality is that I have limited resources here and you are most qualified to assist. The reason I came to find you, Ziva, is that Becker's sources tell me that this man is heading to London. I have to decide if I can keep you on the case to travel with me."

"I am more than capable of doing my job, Tony. I was trained to put emotion aside since I was a little girl. Do not take this away from me. Please - I need to do this." Her voice softened. Slightly.

"I believe the man we saw last night is an arms dealer," she continued.

"He spoke French, although at the time, my sanity was a little questionable." She gave a bitter little laugh. "I had thought that I was hallucinating. I will have to hear his voice to be sure. He wore cologne, which also seemed odd to me at the time - since we were in the desert - but I would remember his smell."

His eyes widened , but she held his stare for a minute before turning to jog away. She only managed a few steps, before she stopped and turned back toward him.

"Saleem also used me as a gift to his French guest. It was one of the few times I was allowed to bathe the whole time I was there."

She did not look back when she jogged away this time.

* * *

A/N: I'm not totally in love with this chapter. I'm blaming it on my total disappointment in last night's ep. heehee

I know Ziva is a little bitchy here…but don't worry. She will make it up to Tony…. in an M-rated sort of way. ;)

Feel free to leave a review. It is always most appreciated!


	10. Slaying Monsters

Welcome back!

The usual disclaimer applies.

Warning: More smut ahead. Heehee

* * *

Tony was in the shower when she finally made her way home. She shed her sweaty clothes and opened the door to the bathroom.

"Hey," she called softly, "I am back."

Pulling back the curtain, she slipped into the shower behind him. He turned to glance at her over his shoulder but did not turn around.

"I am sorry, Tony." Her forehead dropped to rest against his back as slender arms wrapped around his waist. "I am so sorry."

His anger began to melt away - he never could stay mad at her.

So many words unspoken, so many things to be said , but somehow she could not force those words to leave her lips. Maybe she didn't have to. Maybe he just knew. Of course he knew, he always knew. Except for the one thing that he _should_ know.

"I regret many things, Tony. So many things."

He turned in her embrace so that he could see her face. She peered up at him with sincerity so intense that it tugged at something deep in his gut.

"I could never regret being with you. _Never_."

Leaning into his embrace, she tightened her arms around him reveling in the feel of his strong body against her own. Bone, flesh, muscle. It was real, he was real. And she drew such comfort from this man that sometimes it took away her very breath. No one had ever cared for her in the way that he had. No one had ever watched her back as he had. And certainly, no one had ever loved her as he had. _As he did. _

_Always._

She felt her breath catch and suddenly it was too much. Too much for one person to bear. All alone. But she wasn't alone. First one sob and then another and she couldn't seem to stop herself - good soldiers do not cry after all - but the pain ripped from deep within her as she clutched his form desperately. As if he alone could keep the monsters at bay.

And maybe he could. He had done a good job of it so far.

He asked no questions, spoke no words, and simply held. Held on to her, for her. Because of her. Because despite all that he was to her - because of all of the things he did for her - she watched his back, too. She loved him, too. Long before he was smart enough to realize just how much he loved her.

She cried until the tension left her body and a strange sense of relief took its place.

And then she laughed. A brittle laugh.

Leaning back, he took her chin in his hand. The slight smile on her lips was genuine.

"It's all pretty screwed up, Tony. Thank God you love me anyway."

He kissed her forehead. The storm had passed.

Reaching around her, his arm brushing the slick smooth skin of her arm, he grabbed the shampoo.

"Come here, Ninja, bath time."

He placed a quick smacking kiss on her mouth then spun her around. She leaned against him with a satisfied groan as he massaged the shampoo into her hair, his long fingers rubbing against her scalp. The scent of jasmine filled the steamy shower as he pulled her lithe body backward into the cascade of water.

Leaning back against his chest, her breath caught as sudsy hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing along the tips of hardened nipples. The back of her head collided with his shoulder, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her as a lone finger swiped between her legs slowly and surely.

His erection pressed against her back and she tipped forward, her palms falling against the tile of the shower. Tony's hands continued to tease her as one finger, quickly followed by a second, slipped inside her body.

Her breath coming in short little pants, she leaned her head against the tile. Close - _she was so close _- just another touch and she would be home.

But he stopped. God help her, _he stopped_.

Leaning down to bite her earlobe, he laughed when she shuddered.

"I want to see you come, Ziva."

He spun her around.

She did not disappoint.

She was beautiful as she came, hard against his hand, her breath labored, her knees turning to jelly.

Gritting her teeth, she did not scream. She did not yell. But she did grind out his name as her head slipped back - _hard_ - against the slick wall. Her body clenched around his fingers and when his thumb brushed against her clit, her eyes snapped open in surprise and a sharp whimper echoed against the walls.

She shuddered once more and her eyes drifted shut before a dreamy smile settled on her lips. Reaching toward him, shaky fingers found his erection and gently stroked its length.

"Let me return the favor," she purred.

* * *

Toweling off her body, he felt his desire rekindle.

"Come here," he whispered and tugged her toward the bed.

Climbing onto the bed she stretched against the cotton of the sheets like a satisfied cat. Sliding in beside her, he traced patterns on her smooth skin until she arched slightly into his touch.

He rolled her body beneath his own, his erection pressed against the opening of her wet heat. And when she wrapped her arms trustingly around his neck he whispered,

"Open your eyes, Ziva."

And she did. Her eyes remained open for the first time since she had returned from Somalia as he slid oh so slowly into her body.

It was slow and it was deep. And she couldn't help the choked sob that escaped her lips, the emotion so intense it became painful.

_And when she came she cried once more._

They left for London the next morning.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know how I am doing…hint, hint. ;)


	11. London

Hello, again. My muses are back after running off after Obsession. Thus, I was forced to take a break and write Cacophony to fix things in my own mind. So I am back to finishing this and my muses have decided to completely go a different direction than I had originally intended. I hope it works for you all.

Disclaimer: Becker and Laurent are mine. Tony and Ziva, not so much.

* * *

She stared at herself in the mirror, the bright bulbs surrounding the glass seared her too dry eyes and made them water. Dressed in a formal black dress, she clutched a leather music folder to her chest. If the situation were not so bizarre she might have found the situation amusing.

Instead she felt nothing. She expected to feel something - anything, really. But all she felt was a spreading numbness. Nothingness.

She laughed to herself. A humorless, ugly laugh, as she stared at the pretty woman in the mirror. She had imagined how she would kill him a million times if she had the chance. The hot wet warmth of his blood flowing over the hilt of her knife onto her hand. The cracking of bones as she twisted his neck with a sickening crunch. The claw of his hands as he fought the grip of her arm locked tightly around the delicate _mortal_ flesh of his neck. Saleem was already dead as were most of his men. But this man was not.

For the time being.

She took a deep breath and tucked an imaginary wisp of hair behind her hair. Smoothing the fabric of her dress one last time, she turned on her heel and left to join the rest of the alto section.

* * *

He wondered why she had never told him that she could sing. Oh, he knew she had a pretty voice and she sang often enough. He just never knew that she had actually been trained in vocal arts.

As it turned out, their suspect was a patron of the arts. Specifically, a patron of the London Philharmonic. It made sense that he would have traveled to Paris for a gala performance and then make his way back to London. What was not yet entirely clear was whether the technical director was involved in smuggling weapons across national borders. A traveling performance with a large orchestra and over a hundred choir members could possibly provide an easy cover for transporting a decent amount of weapons.

Agent Becker had managed to obtain a sound byte of the Frenchman's voice whom they believed was named Julien Laurent. Playing the recording for Ziva, she listened without so much as blinking to show any form of distress. Nodding in affirmation that this man was indeed in Africa, Tony signaled to stop the recording.

"Is that all?" she had asked, smiling tightly.

"Yes, for now," Tony answered. Ziva turned to leave when Becker's voice stopped her.

"How do you know him?" She hadn't turned around when Tony answered for her.

"Classified mission in Somalia, Becker."

"Actually, Agent Becker," Ziva replied, "he was providing arms to a terrorist that held me hostage in Somalia for months. I look forward to expressing my thanks to him for his…hospitality." With that she left the room without turning back.

She had stormed out of the American Embassy leaving Tony to follow in her wake.

"Ziva, hey wait! _Ziva!" _

She whirled on him.

"No, Tony, listen to me. I can do this. I promise you, I will not kill him. You do not need to cover for me, although I appreciate the gesture."

He nodded, reached over to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. She covered his hand with her own.

"Please do not worry. I will not gut him."

He smiled at that. "I know."

Ziva allowed Tony to tug her back in the direction of the Embassy.

Further intel revealed that not only was Laurent a patron of the London Philharmonic, he spent much of the performance time watching from the wings. Most likely, he also had access to the technical director while backstage.

Thus, Ziva watched in amused silence as Tony and Becker tossed ideas around trying to figure out a way to get one of their team back stage.

"You know, if McGeek were here, we could set him up as a techie."

Finally, Ziva broke through the banter.

"You are missing the obvious. We do not know who is involved. Therefore, there is no one that we can really trust to help us get someone behind the scenes. Several choirs are performing this piece together. A single woman could easily join the mixed ensemble. How difficult do you think it would be to get a copy of Beethoven's Ninth?"

Both men stared at her as if she had simply lost her mind, but she met their gaze with a sly smirk.

"Seriously, gentlemen, I need a black dress, a leather folder and a copy of the music. The rest will be a piece of pie."

"Cake. A piece of cake. And since when can you sing?" Tony asked her.

"Since always. You never asked."

Both men stared at her.

"Oh, and make sure the music is the German version, not the English," she added.

And so it came to be that Ziva waited in the wings listening to the symphony as they played the third movement of Beethoven's Ninth. The vocals didn't begin until the fourth and final movement. She wandered the dark wings slowly and deliberately humming quietly to herself looking very much the part of a singer preparing to perform. She spotted Laurent after a few minutes flirting with another young singer who smiled up into his handsome face sweetly.

Ziva's stomach turned and bile burned in her throat but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Eventually, the flirting ended and Laurent made his way toward a technician dressed in stage blacks wearing a headset. Keeping her face averted, Ziva inched as close as she dared, closed her eyes and continued to hum quietly using her fingers to conduct the beat in her mind presenting picture a pure ignorance to the conversation happening less than a few feet away.

An exchange of money was to take place during the performance the following evening.

One more night. She could do this one more time.

Years of Mossad training allowed Ziva to turn away from the man that had raped her in a desert cell without batting an eye, file on stage with the rest of the alto section and perform a piece she had not sung since her late teens. In German.

She feels something dangerous begin the to bubble within her. Remnants of a persona she had once left behind.

And she knows that were it not for Tony and the struggle she has suffered to rebuild her life as an American citizen, Laurent would be a bloody mess left to die an agonizing death on the black wooden beams of the backstage floor.

* * *

A/N: I'm already close to finishing the next chapter. Yes, there will be some more smut in the next chapter but definitely not fluff. Things need to get a little dark after this experience. Thanks for sticking with me on this.

On another note SPOILER ALERT - did anyone notice Ziva's demeanor when dealing with the rape issue in Patriot Down? Am I the only one that thinks it bothered her? Maybe, just maybe we might get some resolution regarding Somalia. Maybe I am reading too much into it. Feel free to share your thoughts!


	12. Catharsis

Thanks for sticking with me! I am apologizing for mistakes in advance because I am desperately trying to finish this story and get it all posted before the finale. Enjoy!

This chapter is an M rated chapter, kids! Don't read at work.

* * *

Her eyes are glittering dangerously when Tony catches up with her after the performance has ended. The question is blatant in his eyes but the look in hers stops him cold. He hasn't seen that look in a very long time. She looks very much the killer he once knew her to be. He wants to ask her if she is alright, but the woman standing before him is not vulnerable nor scared. She is a trained assassin and even though she has not acted on her instinct, Tony possesses no doubt that a few years ago, Laurent's intestines would have been spilled onto the floor without a second thought. He sighs, but remains silent.

Dressed in a suit to blend in with the rest of the audience, Tony tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and escorts her to a waiting town car. She remains quiet, too quiet, throughout the drive back to the Embassy. Once the team has been reunited, she only speaks long enough to give them the details of the exchange that is to take place in the next evening. Tony has assigned a tail to follow Laurent for the night, having already managed to have a bug placed within the suite of his hotel.

The group breaks for the night with plans to reconvene in the morning.

Heading back to the hotel, Ziva resumes her silence.

Her eyes have not lost their hard glint when she looks at him expectantly once they are alone in their room. Standing before him, she reaches for the buttons on his shirt. He grabs her wrists and does not break contact with her gaze. They stare each other down for a moment before he acquiesces and lets her have her way.

He knows what is about to happen, has been down this road before with Ziva. He wonders for a moment if he should stop her, but in the end he knows that this is on her own terms.

He can feel her anger as it pulses around him and fills the room. He can feel the taught energy and the barely controlled rage. Most importantly, he can feel all of the things she can not say.

She is not looking for his tender touch this evening. And so he lets her lead this dance.

She is not gentle when she pulls the shirt from his body. Pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed, she kneels between his knees, raking her nails down his thighs. Jerking the zipper down, she releases him from his pants. He sucks in his breath when she closes her mouth around him, sliding her fingers along his length.

He buries a hand in her hair and groans her name. Her fingernails leave indentations in his leg through his suit pants as her mouth sucks him - hard. His roaming free hand finds the zipper on her dress and lowers it far enough to slip into the fabric and palm her breast. Her breath catches and she stills as his fingers roll her nipple roughly between his index finger and his thumb. He is testing the waters to see if she really wants to play this game.

For a moment, he freezes and his heart skips a beat as he considers the possibility that maybe he has completely misread her intention. Misread the entire situation.

Her eyes snap open as she regards him from her knees between his legs. She looks stunning before him, with her head back and his fist wrapped in her hair. She knows what he is thinking and knows why he hesitates and it angers her further.

She doesn't want to have to explain her needs to him. She simply wants him to take her.

"Trust me, Tony. I will let you know if it is too much."

He is not opposed to rough sex, not even rough sex with Ziva.

He waits another heartbeat, then nods.

Then, because she has given him permission - no, _demanded - _that he drop his self assigned protective detail, he gives in to her request. He is male, after all.

His hands grab her arms and pull her to her feet. His mouth crashes down on hers in a punishing, bruising kiss. Soft lips open willingly against his as he invades her mouth. Strong fingers tangle in her hair and grip her head to his own. Over and over his mouth slants over hers and she meets every movement without hesitation.

Roaming, touching, feeling hands rake her body through the slippery fabric of her dress. Breath coming in sharp staccato pants, Ziva pupils dilate until her eyes can not possibly grow any darker. Desire, lust and anger burn in their depths.

Tony grabs her and tosses her on the bed. Immediately rolling to her knees, she looks at him over her shoulder. Climbing upon the bed, Tony presses his body along the back of hers and pulls the hem of her dress so that it bunches around her waist. He wraps one arm around her ribcage, his other snakes down below the hem of her dress and the elastic band of her underwear to the slick folds beneath.

Wedging one of his thighs between her legs, she rides him as his fingers slip inside of her. She is wet, so wet, and so incredibly hot that it nearly takes his breath away. Pushing back against his muscled body, his cock is hard and thick behind her. .

"I think it is time to lose the dress, Ziva." Tony pulls away from her long enough to remove her dress and then slip off her bra and panties.

He slides his own pants as far as his thighs when his arms snakes around her ribcage once more. Pulling her body back against his, he drives himself into her heat from behind. A squeak of surprise escapes her lips before she allows herself to succumb to his control, his lead.

Her head lolls back against him for a moment before she falls forward, bracing her hands on the mattress. He picks up a smooth, hard rhythm and pushes her body in a way that dominates and controls. And she gives into to it because this is what she needs. This control that neutralizes the hate and anger that bubbles inside of her. She doesn't want to think and she doesn't want him to think. She just wants to feel.

And she certainly can feel him thick and hard inside of her body. Her head drops to the white linen as he grips her hips hard enough to leave a bruise or two. She can feel her muscles beginning to contract around him as he groans behind her. She cries out into fabric as she comes and he pumps two more times - _hard_ - until she is a quivering mess.

She feels tender lips kiss her back softly, a reminder that it is Tony behind her, before he flips her over onto her back and resumes his aggressive rhythm. She wraps her legs around him as he drives inside and her hands grip his face as she forces him to look at her. Forces him to see that she is alright as she urges him to take her harder, rougher. It does not take long for him to follow her over the edge. He collapses heavily, crushing her smaller body beneath his own.

He rolls away from her, his breath harsh as his body calms. She immediately rolls her body into his, pressing against him tightly as though she can burrow into his very skin. He follows her lead and rolls back to face her, their limbs tangling. Face to face, his body engulfs hers as she huddles in his protective embrace.

"Tony," she whispers, her voice holding a tinge of vulnerability.

"Yeah," he answers, leaving a kiss at her temple.

"Don't let go."

And he doesn't. He holds her body protectively all night. Particularly, when she dreams of Laurent and a dusty desert cell in Africa.

He wonders if she will be able to hold it together for a second performance tomorrow night.

* * *

A/N Thank you as always for reading! I think there will be 2 more chapters.

Anyone else a little worried that Ziva's citizenship interview might go badly? Yeah, me too….


	13. C'est La Vie

Sooo….I did not manage to get this posted before the finale. I tried. Really, I did, but it just wasn't meant to be. However, I'm glad we were given a finale that has not left me feeling traumatized and in need of therapy.

Disclaimer: if they were mine, I would be writing for the show. For money. Lots of money.

Last chapter, folks! Enjoy.

A special thank you to **M E Wofford **for the endless support. It is much appreciated!

* * *

She waits.

Moving restlessly through the dark wings, she forces a serene expression to play across her features in an attempt to disguise that she is pacing in nervous anticipation. Studying the music from beneath hooded eyes, she hums the alto line to herself while scanning the cavernous backstage area from the periphery of her sight line. She absently moves to finger the ring on her left hand for comfort, but then remembers that she did not wear it in an attempt to draw Laurent to her.

She knows the minute his presence invades the radius in which she feels safe. Her eyes prickle and her skin itches as the heat of adrenaline courses through her veins alerting her to his arrival. She does not need to turn around to know that he is close. She straightens her shoulders and raises her chin, locking her jaw in quiet defiance.

For a shattering moment, she thinks that maybe this is one mission she can not complete. An emotion so child-like and frantic streaks through her and she wonders - just for a moment - what it might have felt like to have her father's arms around her. Protecting her and keeping her safe.

And just as quickly, she forces the thought aside. Taking a deep breath, she raises herself to her full height, but even with heels, this man is much larger than she. Although hyper-vigilant, she slips into a persona she has perfected since before she could remember. A coy smile and a wink from a pretty face. Rulers of nations have fallen for less.

So she slips the mask into place as one would a custom made glove.

She exudes sex and she breathes power and she knows that this persona is irresistible, particularly to the narcissistic sociopath invading her sense of well being. Forcing any and all other emotion aside, she focuses on the mission at hand.

Glancing over her shoulder, she catches his eye. Her lips form in a sexy smirk and she glances away, the very picture of demure innocence.

She doesn't need to think it through, she's traveled this road before. Knows the cost and what is at stake.

_She knows that her personal involvement is irrelevant._

She has captured his attention effectively and sends him another smile as she joins the other altos preparing to go onstage for the fourth movement. He finds her at the end of the line.

"I do not believe that we have met, mademoiselle, however you look familiar."

Her breath catches, but years of training allow her to maintain a relaxed composure when she smiles sweetly and gives him a flippant answer complete with a practiced French accent.

"I am sure you say that to all of the ladies, monsieur."

"Ah, you are French," he comments appreciatively, "you must join me for a drink at the reception after the performance."

Her blood runs cold and for the second time this evening she questions her ability to play out this role. But she is a soldier, she reminds herself, and she has faced more powerful men than this one. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she says, "That would be lovely."

* * *

Laurent is waiting when the performance is over. Holding his arm out to her, he tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow. In his other hand is a leather briefcase containing what Ziva assumes is a sizable amount of cash.

"I hope that you do not mind, but I have a quick business transaction to complete before the celebrations begin."

"Of course not," Ziva murmurs sweetly.

He leads her behind the building where several vans and trucks are parked, mostly likely housing a variety of music, sound and electrical equipment. And a collection of weapons. Two men are waiting by one of the vans.

"Please wait here, _cherie_, I will return in a brief moment."

Ziva spots Tony and the rest of their team approaching from both sides of the alley behind the concert hall dressed in all black. She waits until Laurent hands the briefcase to one of the men before she approaches.

"Monsieur Laurent," Ziva bites out. Gone is the shy choir girl flirting in the wings. Considering the types of men with whom Laurent conducts business, it is no surprise that he realizes she is more dangerous than she first appeared.

"Who are you?"

"Ziva DiNozzo," she replies before she moves with incredible speed, simultaneously pulling her knife from beneath the skirt of her dress and shoving him forcefully against the white van at his back as Tony's team surrounds them. The other two men are easily overpowered and hand cuffed while Tony and Agent Becker keep their weapons trained on Laurent

Leaning toward him and pressing the sharp point of the knife into the tender flesh, she draws a droplet of blood before retreating to trail the knife slowly down his throat along the jugular.

Suddenly, her calm, composed demeanor disappears and she slams her forearm against his throat shoving him once more against the cool metal of the van.

"You may remember meeting me in Africa. I was once Ziva David, daughter of Mossad Director Eli David," she growled at him.

"Should we intervene, Agent DiNozzo?" Agent Becker asked quietly.

"No, she will not kill him," Tony replied in an equally low voice, "she has too much to lose."

Pressing her arm tighter against his throat, she hissed at him, "Saleem gave me to you as a gift. Do you remember?"

His eyes bugged out of his head as the lack of oxygen caused black spots to dance in front of his eyes. Summoning up the last of his strength, he pushed Ziva away as his arm swung in a wide arc crashing into the left side of her head. Stunned, her vision blurred but she forced herself to remain upright.

She sees vague recognition glitter in his eyes as he realizes that he not only knows her, he has violated her in the worst way.

She reacts without thinking and slams her fist into his jaw in a swift uppercut. Laurent dropped like a stone to the ground and Ziva followed, falling to her knees beside him. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him up by the fabric as she continued to yell at him.

"_Do you remember?"_

Tony approached her carefully and slowly.

"Ziva."

She didn't respond. Kneeling next to her, he gently pulled her fists from Laurent's shirt.

"It's over, Ziva. He's unconscious."

She finally turned her head and stares at him wide eyed. In an instant, she scrambled to her feet and stumbled away from the vans and the crime scene beginning to take shape around her.

"Agent Becker," Tony called, "please take this man into custody when he wakes up. Can you handle this? I need to see to my wife."

"Will she be alright?"

"Yes, I think she will."

Tony races after Ziva as she makes her way clumsily down the alley, stopping to empty the contents of her stomach beside the garbage dumpster. He wraps his arms around her as she finished heaving. He didn't say anything just held her for a moment.

He leaves her briefly to give directions to Becker, placing the situation in his capable hands before he took Ziva back to the hotel.

She did not speak as he removed her dress and buried her chilled form beneath the heavy blankets of the bed. Climbing in beside her, he wrapped her tightly in his embrace and lent her his warmth as the tremors began and shook her body.

He kissed her temple and breathed into her ear, "It is over, Ziva. You never got to kill Saleem and you did not get to kill Laurent, but I am so proud of you tonight."

"It is over," she echoed hollowly, "but I let him live."

And suddenly, the idea of his blood on her hands was too much.

And she knew she had made the right decision.

* * *

**Epilogue:**

Bastille Day - July 14th

The sound of fireworks rumbled as the sky lit up in a spectacular rainbow of smoky color. Ziva and Tony, looking very much like tourists dressed in summer attire, sat at a small table in front of a café sharing a bottle of wine.

A warm glow flowed easily between them. Ziva leaned back in her chair.

"Are you disappointed that we did not attempt to fight the crowds to watch the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower?"

"No, this is perfect."

"Do you think you would like to stay in Paris after our contract is up, Tony?" she asked curiously.

"We still have two years, Ziva."

"I know, I am just asking."

"Honestly, I think I would like to go back to DC after this. What do you think?"

"I was hoping you would say that."

She raised her wine glass in a toast, "Here is to the next two years of adventure before settling down."

Tony grinned as he clinked his glass against hers and then took a long swallow.

"Now, Tony, I have a surprise for you."

She fished inside of her bag and produced a deck of cards. She set up a game of Speed, a game that brought them close so long ago, a game that they hadn't played in as long as Tony could remember.

"For old time's sake," she explained.

He smiled his mega watt smile. She smiled back just as brightly.

And then she thoroughly kicked his ass at cards.

C'est la vie.

It's French for something.

* * *

A/N: I actually found myself in Paris on Bastille Day in 2007. It wasn't planned that way, but it was absolutely one of the coolest experiences of my entire life. I highly recommend it. =)

Thank you for reading and sharing this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed this story.

And thank God nothing happened to jeopardize Ziva's citizenship in the finale. Whew! I was worried. I'm really mad at Gibbs for missing it, but hopefully he will make it up to her. I've already forgiven Tony.

Feel free to leave me some love! It makes the world go 'round!


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